


Kiss The Girl

by HooksLovelySwan (ChainOfPaperClips)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, tie-in fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1550015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainOfPaperClips/pseuds/HooksLovelySwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric arrives in Storybrooke after 29 years in Neverland, eager to reunite with his love, Ariel, but his reception is not at all warm. Can he convince the now handicapped Ariel to let him love her again? Tie-in to the Captain Swan fic, A Man of Honor, A Woman of Courage, and A Timeless Love. Lots of angst, some fluff. Bits of Captain Swan throughout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Eric stormed out of The Rabbit Hole, desperate for the salty tang of ocean air. For years, it had been the only thing that helped him keep his sanity intact, the one thing that had offered him any comfort at all. His stability. His joy. And occasionally, his sorrow.

Vaguely, he registered the sound of the bar door slamming shut behind him, and he almost stopped in his tracks. Guilt warred with satisfaction over the rise he'd managed to get out of Emma Swan. But anger flared to life again, hot and bright, consuming any other feeling. Anger for the way she'd been treating his best mate, anger at his own loss of temper, anger that her accusations probably reflected the opinions of over half of Storybrooke, if not the majority of it.

But mostly, he was angry with himself for allowing Snow White to plant hope in his heart again. Twenty-nine years in hell hadn't been able to scrub Ariel from his mind; the haunting echo of her voice as she sang hadn't been erased, nor or the shine of her eyes and the glow of her excited face when she discovered something new. He'd learned to endure it, even distract himself from it when necessary, but he had never forgotten a single detail of his beautiful Ariel.

And the longing he'd held in his heart for nearly three decades had culminated to pull the breath out of his lungs when he'd finally seen her again...

_**Storybrooke, six weeks earlier** _

_"Captain," Snow White said, picking her way over to him as the rest of their shipmates hurried to gather their belongings the moment he guided the Jolly Roger into port and dropped anchor. "I want to thank you for your help in rescuing Henry," she said with a bright smile._

_Eric peered at her over his shoulder. "No thanks necessary," he assured her with a light smile. "I'm just glad Emma has her son back."_

_"If there's anything I can do for you-"_

_"Ariel?" he asked haltingly. "If...will she see me?"_

_"I'm sure she will," the princess reassured him. "She wanted to be with you, but-"_

_"Regina," he said darkly, his eyes sliding over to the scowling brunette. She had been in a foul mood ever since the final confrontation with Pan in Neverland. And for her, he gathered, that was saying something._

_"She's trying to change," Snow murmured, watching her stepmother with an unreadable expression. "For Henry's sake. I think...I hope it will stick this time."_

_And Eric knew without another word what she was really telling him. And although his soul railed against it, screaming for the vengeance that he should have for his Ariel, he nodded in silent agreement. He wouldn't act against Regina. Not if it would upset Henry and Emma. He owed Jones that much, at the least._

_"Me too," he said gruffly._

_The important thing was that he had his Ariel. That he would see her again soon, hold her in his arms and make things right again. The way they should have been before Regina's interference._

_"Careful," Charming's voice floated over to them. "Don't bump his head."_

_Neal grunted with effort, helping the prince angle the makeshift stretcher better as they eased it out of Jones's cabin. "Are you kidding? After what he did for me?" He shook his head, expression mildly disturbed. "I don't think I can ever repay him."_

_"If I know Hook," Charming said as he carefully stepped onto the main deck, walking backwards, "he'll never to think to ask you to repay him." Jones's unconscious form slid into view as Neal pushed from the other end and stepped onto the main deck himself._

_Emma hovered nearby, as she had been for hours, her parents hardly able to convince her to leave Jones's side to sleep and eat while they sailed back to Storybrooke. Her fingers stretched toward Jones, almost touching him but not quite, before her hand dropped again. Her worried expression smoothed into a soft smile, and she followed her father and her ex-lover down the gangplank as they transported Jones to a strange carriage with lights that flashed blue and red, waiting at the end of the docks._

_Eric nodded at Snow and followed her off the ship, the only one to leave his belongings on the Jolly Roger. For the time being, it would be his home. Jones had left it in his care before he'd died, and Eric knew he'd honor that agreement, but he had no intention of keeping his best mate's ship now that he was alive again. When Jones was ready to Captain it, Eric intended to hand it over to him in as good of condition as he himself had maintained his own ship, the Lagerkron; at least before mermaids had destroyed it and forced him onto Neverland's shores, where he was eventually captured by Pan._

_His eyes swept through the crowd of people when he stepped off the gangplank and walked toward the end of the dock, searching for her. He knew she was unlikely to be there. Why would she expect to see him again after twenty-nine years, much less walking off the Jolly Roger with the small band of heroes that had set out for Neverland weeks ago? He was prepared for the disappointment, had already decided to ask Snow where he might be able to find Ariel later, after they settled Jones at the hospital, when he saw a flash of bright red hair toward the back of the crowd._

_His breath caught in his throat, almost suffocating him, and he pushed aside several people, heedless of anything else. Heart beating wildly, he parted the sea of people at last and came face to face with Ariel, sitting in an odd chair. Eric stared, drinking in the long, soft waves of her red hair. He'd dreamed about it for so long, fantasized running his fingers through the tangle as they made love-_

_Her head lifted, and blue eyes, a mesmerizing shade of teal offset by her porcelain skin, met his own. Her brow puckered, and she frowned, a look of fear entering her eyes. Puzzled, Eric stepped toward her, wanting to offer her comfort, to explain his absence and everything that was on his heart, but Ariel's chair shifted forward suddenly, propelled by her hands as she spun two wheels attached to its sides. Before he could form words, to understand anything at all, she had turned her chair away from him and wheeled out of his sight._

_"There was a...boating accident," Snow said from his elbow, startling him. He looked at her, bewildered. "Damaged her spinal cord. She can't walk anymore, Eric."_

_He tried to focus on Snow's words. "Is that what you thought she should tell me herself?" he croaked._

_She sighed. "Not exactly. The accident happened about a year ago. It had nothing to do with Regina." Snow shook her head. "She hasn't been the same since. Hardly speaks a word to anyone, even after Regina gave her voice back."_

_"Her voice?" he said sharply. "What was wrong with her voice?"_

_"You'll have to talk to her about it," Snow sighed again. "It has to do with why she couldn't come meet you."_

_"Why didn't you tell me," he whispered, forcing the words out before he lost the ability to speak._

_"Because I hoped to break it to you gently, away from Neverland," she admitted with chagrin written all over her face. "I didn't expect to her to be here at the docks when we arrived. I thought I'd have more time to prepare both of you-" She peered up at him, her face earnest, her eyes pleading. "I knew it wouldn't make a difference to you."_

_And he knew that while it sounded like a statement, she was begging for him to confirm her faith in him._

_"It doesn't."_

_"Come on," Snow said in a gentle tone, laying one hand on his shoulder, "I can tell you more about her injury at the hospital, while we visit Hook."_

_He followed the princess, but his eyes flicked in the direction that Ariel had disappeared. Their reunion had not gone at all the way he had fantasized it would. He needed to speak with her, make her understand that he still wanted her, that nothing could ever_ stop _making him want her._

_He would make it right between them. Somehow..._

The memory faded, and Eric found himself, not on the docks of his beloved sea, but in front of Ariel's modest residence. He often did, after he'd been drinking. His feet seemed to bring him here of their own volition, though his mind knew it wasn't a good idea.

He hesitated in the driveway, debating whether to approach or turn away. So many times, he simply went back to the docks without ever knocking once.

Eric walked to the front door, taking in the single light that shone from one of the lower level windows. She was still up, even at this late hour. Was she thinking of him at all, or was he alone in the memories that so often haunted his evening hours?

He knocked on the door softly at first, and hesitant, but then louder and more insistently. "Ariel," he called loudly, "open the door. We need to talk."

A light flicked on inside, near the door. Moments later, the curtains on one of the windows shifted, revealing her face. She peered at him, her expression unreadable. He edged toward the window, afraid of scaring her off, and laid his hand on the glass, the only barrier that blocked him from caressing her face. "Ariel," he said, " _please_."

The curtain moved again, and her face disappeared from sight, but the hall light remained lit. He held his breath, waiting with wild hope that this hesitation meant something. The moments ticked by, and Eric scarcely moved. The door lock rattled, and he drew a shallow, hopeful breath.

The sound of a deadbolt being secured deflated the air from his lungs. The light near the door blinked out. He slumped against the house in defeat, and the light went out in the other room, plunging the house and his heart into darkness.

She'd turned him away again.

It shouldn't have shattered his heart so. It had happened half a dozen times already. He knew what a risk it was by now to reach out, to willingly put his hand into the fire just one more, desperate time. But how could he stay away when he felt more alive even being burnt by the fire of her rejection than he did without her?

"Ariel, please," he implored. "Come back to me."

But no response came. She was already gone.


	2. Chapter Two

The television murmured in the background, a comfort for the illusion of human company that it provided. Ariel looked up from the book she held in her lap, unable to concentrate on the story. She'd been having difficulty focusing for weeks. No matter how hard she tried, a face with tousled black hair, tortured ice blue eyes, and unshaven facial scruff flashed through her mind at obnoxiously frequent intervals, disrupting her thoughts.

The worst of it always occurred when it was still and quiet (thus, another reason for the running TV). When she kept herself busy at work, or with simple chores and recreation, her thoughts of Eric, of a once anticipated happy ending, were almost absent altogether. Almost.

But on evenings like this, when even the insects seemed inclined to quiet contemplation, the memories and images of her brief time with Eric slam into her consciousness without mercy. It was enough to drive a person mad. And these days, she wasn't altogether certain that it hadn't.

Ariel sighed, reaching for the nearby TV remote. She increased the volume in defiance of her memories, and returned to her book, determined to shut any thought of her sailor out of her head (not quite realizing that her unconscious possessiveness had already marked her for failure). She flipped the pages of the book backwards, skimming parts of the mystery book she was already familiar with, intent on a seamless transfer of her attention to fresh material.

Her efforts, although not perfect, were successful enough that it took her several moments to absorb and recognize the moaning from the TV. Her eyes widened and she looked up, shocked to see that the couple in the movie she'd selected were making love rather enthusiastically on her television screen. She switched the channel with haste, berating herself for not checking the summary and rating more closely. But instead of the bitterness or stoicism she usually felt at such a sight, she had felt a whisper of longing instead, overlaid by grief for the unexpected turn her life had taken.

She had been so stupid. Her father had tried to warn her not to get involved with the humans, that it only brought heartache and tragedy in the end. But she had been too stubborn, blinded by love and the impulses of youth, to listen. And now she didn't dare return home to her people, despite how easy it would be to slip off the magical bracelet that enabled her to stay in human form. She couldn't bear to face her father with the shameful weight of failure on her shoulders, not after refusing to heed the wisdom he'd attempted to impart to her.

So here she was, she thought bitterly, trapped among the humans of Storybrooke by her own stubbornness and pride, as crippled in spirit as she was in body.

A knock sounded on the front door, hesitant at first, then more insistent. A chill gripped her heart. She didn't have to wheel herself over to windows to know who it was. Only Snow and Belle ever visited her with any real frequency, and never so late at night. "Ariel," the familiar male voice said, "open the door. We need to talk."

She hesitated for a moment, staring at the door from her vantage point in the living room. She wanted nothing more than to open the door and let him in, to see his face one more time. How could she not, when the mere sound of his voice made her soul sing?

With a sigh, Ariel wheeled herself over to the windows near the door and flicked on the hall light switch. Peeling back the curtain, she peered out. Eric slumped against her door with a defeated expression, his arms crossed. She considered him for a moment, taking advantage of his distraction to fix his appearance in her mind for another time, when it didn't hurt so much. She absorbed his disheveled hair with greedy eyes, gaze caressing his strong jaw line where her fingers could not, and lingering on his prominent Adam's apple.

He looked up, glancing at the window, and straightened to his full height. Something brightened ever so slightly in his mournful expression, and he approached the window with caution. He laid a hand against the glass. His fingers might have caressed her chin, if not for the impenetrable barrier between them, and Ariel shivered inwardly. Eric watched her with a hopeful glint in his eyes, and she withered with shame under them. She couldn't give him what he needed anymore. If she ever could have, she thought sadly, remembering how hard she'd pushed herself, racing through the water to reach him before his ship set sail-and the stab of horror and sorrow when she'd realized Regina had stolen her voice, rendering her incapable of calling for his attention while he waited, watching for her, on the castle balcony.

If she had reached him in time and revealed her secret, her identity as a mermaid, would he have accepted her? Would she have been able to give him what he needed from a woman, even then? Or had her hopes for a happy ending been doomed from the very beginning?

"Ariel," he begged, " _please_."

She sighed again and closed the curtain. Ariel wheeled herself over in front of the door, staring at it as if it might provide answers to the conflict that was raging within her. It remained as utterly silent as she'd been until Henry guilted Regina into returning her voice, after Emma Swan broke the curse over Storybrooke. She chewed on her lower lip, fingers twitching on the armrest of her wheelchair, as she looked at the doorknob.

Ariel reached out with her right hand, clasping her fingers around the knob, heart racing wildly. She had to confront him eventually. She knew that. Better to stop putting it off, so she could move on with her life, and he could move on with his. The sooner they both had closure on their failed, quasi-relationship, the better.

Hand shaking, the knob rattled as she turned it. Panic set in, and she exhaled with a shudder, fingers pushing the deadbolt into place instead. "I can't," she whispered to herself. "I just can't." She wasn't ready. But in her heart of hearts, she knew she would never be ready to say goodbye to her sailor, her handsome and humorous prince. Her star-crossed true love. "Coward," she chastised herself.

Leaning forward, she flicked off the hall light and wheeled herself away, pausing only when she heard his final, muffled plea: "Ariel, please. Come back to me."

Peering over her shoulder, she closed her eyes, hating herself as she turned off the light in the living room as well. "I can't," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks as she sat in the darkness. "I can't be who you need."

He left some time later, as he always did, taking another piece of her soul with him. Painful as it was, she didn't mind. It had always belonged to him anyway.


	3. Chapter Three

Eric took his time preparing and heating the tar, opting to give his mate some private time with the Swan woman before he had to return up to the main deck and climb aloft for the repair work. It was a two person job, tarring down the rotted sections of rope; Jones knew it as well as he did. That Jones had suggested it as he had dismissed him from duty at the helm told Eric everything he needed to know about the pirate's intent for some privacy with Emma. All too happy to oblige, he'd given his own wordless encouragement to his old mate and set off, leaving the couple to their own devices for a while.

Mulling over Jones's apparent willingness to bond with Emma again, Eric hoped it was a sign of good things to come. Living with Killian during Emma's absence had been almost unbearable. The pirate had been moody and sullen, apt to snap at him over the most trivial matter. It hadn't taken long for even Eric's patience to wear thin. Patience which, under normal circumstances, he liked to pride himself of having an abundance. But his own troubles with Ariel had eroded much of it, and Emma Swan had borne the brunt of it during a very public fight at The Rabbit Hole.

A fight which, ironically, had spurred her to somehow reconcile with Jones. Eric wasn't certain how that had come about, exactly, but he'd gathered that Emma had spent the night on the Jolly Roger in some capacity, if the disgusting tea Jones had concocted this morning to ease her hangover was any indication. That Jones had made the tea at all spoke volumes for his feelings for Emma. Vile as the tea was, it was a mercy in comparison to the rude way in which Jones always dealt with Eric's hangovers.

Snorting to himself, Eric checked the tar's consistency. He certainly hadn't been allowed to stay abed as long as he liked. No, he'd woken the same way he always did: by a cursing, irritated Jones yanking him out of bed and plunging his head into a bucket of cold seawater over and over until Eric shouted a string of even viler curse words back. Then it was a long lecture about overindulgence when one was on duty and the responsibilities of a sailor, all while Eric fumbled to dress and ground his teeth together in an effort to keep his temper in check (Knocking the smug bastard's jaw off, clear into the ocean, probably wasn't the smartest way to begin a day, after all, hangover or not).

Yes, Captain Killian "Hook" Jones had a distinct soft spot for Emma Swan. That the pirate looked as if he might finally do something about it forced Eric to consider his own situation with Ariel. It was true, he'd tried to talk to her half a dozen times at least. But perhaps that wasn't the way to handle things. Certainly, she hadn't responded in a positive way to any of it. Nor had she even so much as made prolonged eye contact with him when they crossed paths in public. A fact which both frustrated and embarrassed Eric. He couldn't help feeling, somehow, that this was all his fault. If he had only waited a bit longer for her, or if he hadn't decided to stay in Neverland, nursing a broken heart, perhaps Ariel wouldn't have ever met with her accident.

"And maybe she wouldn't hate me," he mumbled, stirring the tar. For it was apparent that whatever feelings she had left for him, they were not positive. He'd learned very quickly that approaching her in public only led to her quick escape, or steadfastly ignoring him as if he didn't even exist. Eric's next tactic had been to capture her attention through more subtle means, with a smile or a look, but a man could only be rebuffed so many times before he broke, and after a time Eric just started to avoid her in public altogether. It was cowardly to slink away from her presence-he knew it as well as the residents of Storybrooke did. But Eric couldn't stand the guilt of what he'd done to her by omission every time he looked at her and saw the way she reacted to his presence.

Eric didn't give a single fuck in the world if her legs no longer functioned, no matter what all the rest of Storybrooke might think. He loved and wanted his Ariel more than ever, but she didn't want to have any contact with him. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? If she wouldn't even talk to him in private, as she had indicated over and over, where did that leave him? Perhaps it was time to admit to himself that Ariel well and truly wanted to be left alone, and honor her wishes.

"Damn fuck it all," he whispered, using a long hook to remove the bucket of boiling tar from the fire.

"Burn yourself?" a feminine voice asked.

Eric's head jerked up. Emma Swan stood in the doorway of the galley, watching him with concern. "No, I'm fine," he managed, not quite able to keep the growl out of his tone.

"You don't sound fine," she argued, entering the room. "Come to think of it, you don't look it, either."

He snorted, eyeing her up and down with a raised eyebrow. "Says the woman who hasn't had a look at herself in a mirror yet," he grinned.

"Nice," she rolled her eyes. "Maybe I won't tell you we've reached port and give you your message after all."

"Port?" He looked around blankly. Had they docked in Storybrooke? He hadn't felt it. Hadn't heard Jones bark for him to return to the main deck for his assistance. "Are we back already? Why didn't Jones call me up to the deck?"

A flush crept into Emma's cheeks. "Oh," she swallowed, "he, uh, thought I should get some experience helping with all the docking preparations. You know, as second mate," she finished.

"Uh-huh." Eric eyed her with a smile, not fooled for a minute. "Things going well, I take it?"

"Hit and miss," she admitted. "But better than they've been for a while now."

"Glad to hear it. He's a mess without you." Eric set the cooling bucket of tar down and hung the hook back up. "So what's this about a message?" he inquired. "Jones using you to pass along threats to my life? Tell him to calm his arse down. The tar is almost ready to handle."

"Uh, well," Emma began awkwardly, "perhaps 'visitor' is more accurate than message."

Eric froze, his heart beating irrhythmically. "Visitor?" he echoed, unable to keep the note of hope from creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, tall guy, grey hair, really skinny. Kinda stiff and proper."

"Ah," Eric answered, looking away, his hopes dashed. "Tell him I'll be up in a moment." Emma shot him a sympathetic look, as if she knew whom he'd hoped his visitor would be. And really, why wouldn't she? It wasn't a secret, by any means, how he felt about Ariel. "And Emma?" The blonde woman paused at the doorway, shooting him a questioning look. "Thanks."

"No problem."

She disappeared, and Eric sat down hard on one of the wooden benches nearby. "Damn it," he muttered. He'd been a fool to think it might have been her, even for a moment. Ariel wasn't going to come visit him. Why would she? She didn't look at him, much less speak with him. It was time to step back for a while, reconsider everything. Eric wasn't willing to give up entirely, not quite yet. But things weren't progressing between him and Ariel, and he needed to figure out if he decided to pursue her, whether it would really be in her own best interests, or whether he would simply be a disruption to the life she'd fashioned now. A life she appeared happier living without him. If he was only going to cause her distress...

He stood up, unable to finish the thought. It was too definitive for him to process at the moment. Using a folded over piece of cloth to lift the bucket of tar, Eric made his way through the ship and up to the main deck. Sure enough, a familiar figure stood on the docks in the distance, the tail of his bound grey hair blowing in the wind. With a sigh, Eric approached his mate.

"Captain," he said, setting the bucket of tar down on the deck. "The tar is prepared. Ready to repair the rigging at your orders. But first I'd like to request permission to disembark and speak with someone."

Jones glanced over his shoulder toward Eric's visitor. "Permission granted. Make it short. I don't want to reheat the sodding tar because you were busy gossiping too long."

"Aye, Captain," he replied, turning toward the gangplank. He passed Emma, who stood to one side, her hands clasped together behind her back, watching with curiosity. Eric shot her a questioning look. She grinned, looking away in embarrassment, but made no move to leave the ship for the evening.

So that was the way of it, then.

Grinning to himself, Eric whistled a little as he climbed down the gangplank and crossed the dock in several long strides. "Grimsby," he called jovially, holding out his hand toward the other man, "it's been a while." He shook his manservant's hand with vigor. "I wondered when you were going to show up."

"Yes, well...I'd have been here sooner, but there were many preparations to be made. Carlotta and I have readied a room for you in my own home; it's small, not what you're used, to-"

"Grimsby, what I'm used to is a tiny room and a narrow bed on a ship. Sometimes not even a bed," he finished, thinking of the hammocks he'd been forced to make use of at times. "Whatever you have prepared will be fine." He hesitated. "But I have no need of it at the moment. I'll be living on the Jolly Roger for the time being." Until Jones was a bit more stable and had no further need of him.

"So the rumors are true?" Grimsby shot a distasteful look toward the Jolly Roger and its captain.

"What rumors?"

"That you might have turned pirate yourself."

Eric narrowed his eyes. "I'm a sailor as much as I ever was. But tell me, Grimsby: Have you ever met this particular pirate?"

"No, but his reputation does...precede him."

"Including him giving his own life to save Rumplestiltskin's son, and killing Pan, thus securing the safety of Emma Swan's own son?"

"They seemed too wild to be true," the butler murmured. "A man cannot return from the dead. And such acts are quite out of character for the pirate, given what is known about him."

"Are they?" he challenged. His eyes swept over to the Jolly Roger. "I've known him a long time, Grimsby. They seem quite in character with what I know about him..."

The Neverland Seas, 29 years ago

The Lagerkron bobbed to the surface, shooting out of the water like a cork that had been released, both spraying water and being drenched with it at the same time. Eric removed the crook of his arm from his face and peered into the darkness, squinting amidst the rain that was pounding down around them. "Hornby!" he barked to his first mate as the ship rocked violently, as if something had struck it from the port side. "Where the hell are we? What just happened?"

"No idea, Your Highness-"

"It's Captain, so long as we're on this vessel," he insisted, moving across the deck to peer over the port side of his ship. He shielded his eyes, leaning over slightly to peer into the water. He spied movement just beneath the teeming surface of the ocean, and wondered what manner of creature was attacking their ship.

"Yes, Captain," Hornby amended, "I'm sure I don't know what's going on, but-"

"Prepare the cannons," Eric ordered, staring into the darkened depths of the ocean. "Something's moving down there-" The ship rocked again, this time tipping it with more force, and Eric gripped the railing just to keep from losing his own balance.

"Aye, sir!" Hornby said, moving about the main deck. He barked Eric's orders to the rest of the crew, who scrambled to prepare the ship's weapons.

"I don't like this," he murmured to himself, shivering in the cool rain that fell upon him and his crew in sheets. "What the hell is going on?"

As if in answer, the unknown creature hit the ship again, this time from the starboard. The Lagerkron tipped dangerously, her port side nearly hitting the water, and Eric lost the grip he'd had on the railing. He hit the water with a splash, dazed. Sinking beneath the waves, Eric tried to find his bearings, but it was nigh impossible in the night-darkened depths of the sea. There was no way to know if his enemy was nearby, preparing to attack, and the thought made him uneasy.

He kicked toward the surface, head piercing the water, lungs inflating with a gasp. "Hornby!" he tried to shout. "Fletcher!" he called to the second mate. But the howling winds devoured his words before they could reach any of his crew. He would have to try to re-board the ship himself. Eric kicked toward the Lagerkron with purpose.

Something yanked at his feet, and Eric was pulled beneath the water again. Anger burned in his throat and heated his veins. He kicked at his unknown assailant with his other foot, despite how useless or foolhardy it might be. He was hardly equipped to fight back otherwise, and he'd be damned if he went to his death limp and accepting, like a coward.

His foot made contact, but with what part of the creature he never knew. Seconds later, something thumped him on the back of the head, and Eric went as limp as he'd feared, darkness enveloping him.

When he awoke again, it was daylight. Sun shone on the wet deck of the ship, refracting from the tiny drops that littered it. Eric sat up, clutching his head with a moan. "Hornby?" he murmured. "Fletcher?"

"Not quite," an unfamiliar voice intoned. Eric looked up, squinting. A dark figure loomed over him, features shadowed as he stood with the sun at his back."The name's Hook. Captain Hook. And you're aboard the Jolly Roger, mate."

"The Jolly...what?" Eric struggled to his feet, swaying a little as he did so. A bearded man in a red knit cap made a move to help steady him, but Eric waved him away. "Where's my ship? My crew? What have you done with them?"

"Sorry, mate," the figure called Hook apologized, thought it was clear from his tone that he wasn't the least bit affected of Eric's situation either way, "there isn't a ship to be seen for miles. I'm afraid the mermaids probably destroyed it and your crew."

"Mermaids?" he echoed. "I don't understand. Where am I? Where did you find me?"

"You're in Neverland, mate. And lucky to be alive after that gods-damned school of mermaids captured you. No telling how long they had you before Mr. Smee spotted them toying with you."

"I have to get back to my crew," Eric muttered, unable to move past that single thought. "I have to find them."

"And then what?" came the sarcastic reply. "Even if they survived, there's no telling what condition they or your ship is in. Or whether or not they've been captured and forced onto the island." He shook his head, stepping back. "You're out of your depth, mate. Best join my crew if you want to be certain you survive."

"Or what?" he snorted, the pounding ache in his head making him reckless.

"Or I execute you in the morning," came the emotionless reply. "Of course, I could hand you over to Pan instead," he mused. "Your choice; either option I offer is a mercy compared to what he might do to you."

"Who the hell is Pan?"

"The demon-king of these isles." He looked over at Mr. Smee. "Throw him in the brig. He'll have plenty of time to think it over, there." Hook moved closer, shifting position, and Eric saw the face of his rescuer-and-captor for the first time. Eyes the color of the ocean were framed by dark hair and a somewhat scruffy beard. A scar was etched onto his right cheek, below his eye. He reached forward with his left arm, and instead of the hand that should have been there, a gleaming silver hook was in its stead. A shiver rolled down Eric's spine as Hook cuffed him under the chin with the curve of his metal appendage. "Think long and hard, mate. I'm not a patient man."

Mr. Smee seized and another crewman seized him, pulling him below deck toward the brig. Eric looked over his shoulder at the ship, committing the memory as many details of the Jolly Roger as he could, for his escape. It was then that he noticed the black flag that billowed in the wind. Pirates. He'd been captured by fucking pirates.

The door to brig slammed shut several minutes later, and Eric fell into the dirty hay with a huff. Rats squeaked nearby, unseen, and Eric sat up, wishing that he'd never left port from his homeland. At least then his crew would be alive, his ship intact. Maybe he'd even have Ariel at his side. But no, he'd forced her to choose between her own life and sailing with him. So bloody stupid.

Hours passed, and Eric's thoughts became darker and more grim. He was in a land he was wholly unfamiliar with, without ship, without crew. He didn't even understand how he'd bloody gotten here. And his choices lay either in execution, become a member of pirate's crew, or possibly be handed over to this Pan, whom even the pirate captain seemed to hold in contempt. None of them were acceptable choices, so far as Eric was concerned.

Eventually, he fell asleep, his decision unmade, only to be awoken some time later to the sound of squealing hinges. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Captain Hook stood outside the cell, Mr. Smee at his side, holding the cell's door open. "Well?" the captain said. "What have you decided?"

"I've decided I don't like any of the options you've given me," he retorted. "Find my ship and my crew. Return me to them." Loathing himself for what he was about to do, he continued, "I'll see to it that you're rewarded handsomely." Eric hated to draw upon the advantage of his birth, but saw no other choice in the matter.

Something glinted in the pirate captain's eyes. Respect? Interest? Eric couldn't hope to interpret the enigmatic man properly. "And who are you that I should either obey or be so 'handsomely rewarded,' as you put it?"

"Prince Eric," he forced himself to answer, "of the North-Sea kingdom in the Enchanted Forest. Get me back to my crew, and I'll find a way to repay you in such a way that would please even a pirate."

Captain Hook issued him a long, searching gaze. His expression offered no hint of what he was thinking. "Mr. Smee," he finally spoke. "There's been a slight change of plans. His Highness here is our prisoner until further notice. We'll begin our search for his ship and crew immediately."

"Aye, Captain!"

"In the meantime..." He leveled another gaze at Eric. "Your presence is required on deck, Your Highness. My crew could do with a bit of entertainment, and I could use the practice."

"Practice?" he found himself asking.

"Sparring," he replied, as Mr. Smee pulled him out of the cell, pushing him roughly toward the ladder that would take them up to the main deck of the ship. "I trust you know how to handle a sword?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. If you wish to see your crew again, Your Highness, you will earn your right to do so by besting me in a match each day."

"Or what?"

"Or I execute you as I planned, Highness. There are greater rewards than ransom to be had, and I don't even need a live prince to get them."

So it went, each day for weeks. Let out of the cell just long enough to spar with the Captain for the crew's entertainment, winning by the skin of his teeth each time, the pirate captain's smirk following him back to the brig, with Hook's promises to win the next match and execute him in the morning echoing in his ears. Sometimes Eric wished Hook would simply go back on his word, execute him, and be done with it. It would be easier. Eric's winning streak couldn't possibly keep up forever.

And indeed, one morning, exhausted from a lack of sleep, thanks to the nightmares that now plagued him, Eric found himself on one knee with Hook's sword at his throat. "Do it," he managed, gasping for breath. "Just get it over with."

Something gleamed in the captain's eyes. He pulled away, sheathing his sword. Eric stared at him in confusion. "But where would be the fun in that, Your Highness?" A slight smirk graced his face. "Return him to the brig, Mr. Smee. Let him have one last night among the rats before we settle this for good at dawn."

Feeling sick to his stomach, Eric didn't eat a bite or take a single drink for the rest of the day. Nor did he sleep a single wink that night. Instead, he reviewed his memories, lingering the longest on those of his parents, his crew, and his Ariel. If only he could have held her one more time, spoken the words of love and devotion that weighed so heavily on his heart now...

Dawn came all too quickly, and, as usual, Hook and Smee were there to greet him with the squeal of rusty hinges as his cell opened. Standing up with a weary sigh, Eric walked out and made his way toward the deck of the ship in silence, Hook and Smee following close behind. Hard to believe his dreams had all come to this.

"Captain!" a familiar voice called as Eric climbed onto the main deck.

His head snapped up. Hornby stood on the deck of the Jolly Roger, hand on the hilt of his cutlass, his stance wary and cautious among the pirates that surrounded him. Eric glanced around in disbelief. The Lagerkron was docked to the Jolly Roger's port side, a long plank of wood connecting them. "Hornby?" he said in disbelief, wondering if he'd gone mad, or if he'd somehow fallen asleep after all.

"It appears you are in luck, Highness," came the now-familiar voice of Hook from behind his shoulder. "Mr. Smee found your crew." He smirked. "Pity. I was looking forward to the execution."

He stared at the pirate captain. Hook shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Win some, lose some. Eric's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "That so?" he shot back. "Then why not go through with it?"

"We're low on rum," Hook winked. "And I understand from your first mate that you've a handsome supply."

He snorted, not buying it for a minute. "And you'd rather have rum than execute your prisoner, the one you beat fair and square in a duel?"

"A pirate would always rather have the rum," Hook said, turning away. "Mr. Smee will follow you back onto your ship to complete the transaction. After that, I make no promises as to your fate if you cross us again, Your Highness."

And it was then, as Eric watched him retreat, that he knew the pirate, for reasons known only to him, had let him win each and every duel.

"He's done terrible things, it's true," Eric admitted as the memory faded. "But he's a changed man." He glanced at his manservant. "So am I."

Grimbsy nodded in silent acknowledgment, and said, "I rather think you should consider returning home, sir. The staff misses you. Max misses you."

Eric felt himself smile, softening toward the idea of returning home at the mention of his dog. "He's all right? Doing well?"

"Of course. Carlotta has taken excellent care of him in your absence."

He considered Grimsby's words. He did owe it to his old staff to visit, to check in on how they were all doing. And though Eric had no intention of moving back into a house until Jones was either doing better, or signaled his intent for Eric to leave, he knew he couldn't stay forever. He needed to move on and start putting a life back together, with or without Ariel.

"All right," he said, "I'll come by in the morning."

"Sir?" came the startled reply from his butler. "Shall I have breakfast prepared, then?"

"Yes," he nodded. "And a means of transport. One of those...what are they called? Cars?"

Grimsby bobbed his head in reply. "Of course. But whatever for, if I might take the liberty of asking?"

"We're going to look at properties, Grimsby. Someplace large enough for me and all the staff."

"Of course, sir," his manservant said, with a spark of hope in his eyes. "I'll make the preparations right away."

"Good. Meet me on the docks tomorrow morning." He glanced back toward the Jolly Roger. "I think I can convince Jones to let me have a day of shore leave." Especially if it meant that Jones got more time alone with Emma. "Oh, and Grimsby?" he called as the older man made to leave. His manservant turned to look at him. Eric steeled himself; he hated throwing his authority around, especially now that he was so unused to thinking of himself as a prince, but, as he always had, he used it when he deemed it necessary.

"Whatever property I purchase," he began, "Captain Jones is welcome to visit it at any time, whether I'm present or not. Any member of the staff who disagrees or disobeys this order will be fired immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

A nod.

"Good. I'll see you in the morning." Eric turned away, toward the Jolly Roger, wondering whether the transition back to his old life was even possible, even if he wanted it. He supposed he would soon find out. Either way, it was a needed distraction from his situation with Ariel. Perhaps if he threw himself into the preparations for a return to a real home, his old life, it might deafen the need for his red-haired love, just a fraction-just enough to not to die a little inside with every heart beat that he was apart from her.


	4. Chapter Four

The phone rang, interrupting the continuous, almost hypnotic sound of the copier in the background. Ariel reached for the button that would connect line 3 to her headset. "Good afternoon, Rider and Baba Law Firm," she greeted brightly. "How can I help you?" Ariel listened for a moment. She opened up the calendar on her computer and scanned it. "Mmm-hmm. Mr. Rider has an opening next week on Tuesday at eleven. Will that work for you?" She paused, listening. "Excellent! We'll see you then!" Ariel disconnected the call and reached for her iced tea, sitting on a coaster in the corner of her overloaded "L" desk.

"I didn't know you worked here," Eric's familiar voice said.

She started, dropping her tea. It hit the desk, cheap plastic lid cracking away from the styrofoam cup, spilling its contents everywhere. Ariel gasped in horror. "Oh no!" she moaned, frantically trying to move the piles of legal briefs away from the spreading mess. "Oh no!" She picked up the tea and set it upright again before it could make the problem worse.

"Let me help," he said apologetically, reaching for some of the folders on her desk.

"No!" she barked. "I need to keep track of where everything goes! I can't afford to mix up research or lose files." She moved another stack of briefs. "Grab some paper towels from the bathroom if you want to help. Around the corner, first door to the left." Ariel didn't look up to see if he complied, but concentrated on shifting some of her case research to a new spot on her desk.

Strong, weathered hands slid into her line of vision several moments later, placing a layer of rough brown paper towel over the spill. The liquid soaked into the towel reluctantly, and Eric pressed against it, forcing it to absorb more. Ariel swallowed, trying to ignore the movement of his hands, the play of his fingers as he traded one soaked paper towel out for a fresh one, tossing the wet one in the garbage can next to her desk.

"So you're a...secretary?" he asked tentatively, fumbling over the last word as if it were unfamiliar. Which, Ariel realized after a moment, it probably was, if he hadn't been brought over in the curse like she had been. But clearly he had picked up the word somewhere, and Ariel found herself wondering from where or whom.

"Paralegal," she answered shortly.

She could tell from the expression on his face that he had not the faintest idea what a paralegal was, much less what one did. He said nothing, however, but swiped the second towel across her desk in lazy circles instead, absorbing the last remnants of the moisture.

"What are you doing here, Eric?" she finally asked, after he threw the second paper towel away, and she'd finished reorganizing all the documents on her desk again.

Blue eyes watched her with a hint of sadness. Ariel's insides shriveled with shame for how she had been treating him, even if it was for his own good. Eric smiled faintly. The joy that usually radiated from his smiles was nowhere to be found. "Attending to a few legalities, I assure you." Ariel flushed at the implication that she might think he was stalking her. "Coming back from the dead is complicated, you know. Just ask Jones."

She blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Eric frowned. "Jones." He sighed when she continued to stare at him. "Hook?" he uttered through clenched teeth, looking as if he had bitten into something rather sour. He continued, "The Swan woman, Emma, she brought him back to life after he died in Neverland."

"The rumors are true?"

A short nod. "Witnessed his death for myself." Grief flickered in his eyes. Ariel puzzled over this reaction. How close were he and the pirate, really? That there was a bond of some kind was certain from the way he'd spat out the nickname "Hook" with such disgust. There was loyalty between them, obviously, but why? How had Eric become entangled with a pirate, especially one with a reputation like Hook? Ariel shivered. If they were friends-and assuming she could still read Eric as accurately as she used to, they were-what did that mean? Were the rumors true about Eric turning to piracy?

She looked him up and down. He still looked like the sea-faring prince she'd known. Perhaps a bit scruffier, with the heavy stubble on his chin and cheeks, and the hair the flopped into his eyes now instead of being neatly trimmed and combed back, but nothing that definitively screamed "pirate" to her. He still felt like the old Eric to her, although she sensed a heaviness of spirit, a gravity to him that hadn't been there before. He felt older, somehow. Wiser? What exactly had happened to him since she'd last seen him?

She couldn't bring herself to ask. Ariel knew she didn't deserve to know anyway. Didn't have one right to ask that. And it was better that she didn't. It would only raise hopes in him.

"I just thought he had been injured," she admitted, thinking of the pirate's still form being carried off the ship when it had arrived back from Neverland.

"Not after Emma brought him back with her magic," he said with a fond smile. "Healed all his injuries in the process. Whale just kept him at the hospital for a while for observation. And...well...there have been complications, as I alluded to."

Jealousy flickered to life inside of Ariel at the first genuine smile to grace Eric's face, of the affection in his voice as he spoke of Emma Swan. Some devotion, she thought sardonically, transferring his affection so easily. A small voice nagged that she was being unfair to him, that she couldn't blame him for moving on when she had so clearly demonstrated that she wasn't willing to pursue a relationship any longer. Disturbed by her own thoughts, she asked in a clipped voice, "Do you have an appointment?"

Didn't she want him to move on? She had spent weeks avoiding him to that end, because she couldn't give him the sort of life he wanted and deserved. Ariel didn't have any right in the world to feel jealous of this other woman that Eric seemed so very taken with.

Shouldn't have...but did.

Irritated with herself, she made a pretense of working while she waited for Eric's answer.

"I had one this morning, but Grimsby called to cancel it. There was...a situation at the docks this morning." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, blue eyes taking on a preoccupied look, worry lines etching themselves into his forehead. "Anyway," he shook himself, shifting his gaze toward her again, "I thought I would drop by and try to reschedule while I was in the area."

In the area? she thought. What exactly brought him to this part of Storybrooke? It wasn't near any of the popular venues, like Granny's, or the Rabbit Hole, nor was it near anyplace all that useful, such as the Dark Star Pharmacy. Rider and Baba was situated at the edge of Storybrooke's commercial center, nearer to housing than anything else.

Ariel pulled up the calendar on her computer again. "I can't get you in until end of next week, on Friday."

"That's fine. I'll be able to give Jones more notice this time."

She arched a brow at him. "I have a three o'clock with Mr. Rider or a four-thirty with Mr. Baba. All the other more desirable days and time slots are filled up already."

"Three o'clock, I suppose," he told her after a moment.

She typed Eric's appointment into the calendar. "There. You're all set," she told him, keeping her gaze centered on the computer screen in front of her.

"Thank you." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, jamming his hands in his trouser pockets. "Ariel..."

She braced herself for the inevitable. The last place she wanted to discuss their failed relationship was in the lobby of the law firm while she was at work. Not that she wanted to talk to him at all. And he had moved on anyway, hadn't he? Or he was beginning to, at the very least.

He expelled a loud sigh. "Friday, then," he agreed with a resigned expression. "Bye."

Ariel stretched her neck, peering over the screen of her computer as he left the office, door shutting behind him with a loud clang of bells. She blinked several times, trying to process what had just happened. Or rather, what had not.

He really had moved on. Eric had finally given up on her, on their love. Stopped pursuing a romantic relationship with her. It was what she had encouraged, even pushed him toward for weeks. But now that it had happened, now that she had succeeded in driving him away, Ariel found that she felt none of the relief she had expected. Emptiness overwhelmed her instead, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. Whom had she been kidding? Driving Eric away, even if it was for his own good, didn't mean she would suddenly stop loving him. Ariel would always love him; she knew it in her heart of hearts, in the depths of her soul.

But that didn't mean that it wasn't more bitter than the last dregs in a strong up of coffee to watch him walk away, just the same.


	5. Chapter 5

Eric awoke to the gentle, familiar rock of the ocean, and for a few disoriented moments, he thought he was in Neverland again, aboard the Lagerkron. Then the wrongness of his surroundings penetrated the fog that permeated his mind, and Eric remembered that he was in Storybrooke, aboard the Jolly Roger. He sat up in the bunk he'd claimed as his own, several weeks ago, and scrubbed at his eyes. It had been three days since he had run into Ariel at Rider and Baba's. Three days in which he had awoken with a pounding headache, feeling like absolute hell-

 _Wait a damn minute_ , he thought peering around the cabin for any sign that his irritable roommate had been there. It was the first morning Jones had let him sleep it off instead of yanking him out of bed and plunging him head first into a bucket of frigid seawater until he sobered up a little. Something must be wrong.

Eric dressed with haste, donning a clean white shirt and ragged grey trousers, shorn off around the knees for ease of movement aboard the ship. He made his way up to the main deck and shielded his eyes from the late morning sun as it reflected off the water. There was no sign of Jones anywhere, but a familiar tangle of blonde hair blew in the breeze up on the quarter deck, and Eric frowned. What was Emma doing here at this time of the morning? Worried for Jones, Eric's steps were quick but cautious as he approached her. "Emma," he said as she turned to face him. "What brings you here? Something wrong? Is he ill?"

She shook her head. "I took an early lunch. The station is pretty slow today. I thought Killian might like to join me at the diner. We had a long talk last night, and it seems he celebrated with a bit too much rum after that. He's getting ready right now."

He felt relieved. For a brief moment, his heart had seized with fear for Ariel after Emma confirmed that Jones wasn't ill, and he had worried that something might have happened to her. Something bad enough to merit Jones allowing him to sleep late and the town sheriff coming out to break the bad news. But she was safe. His Ariel was safe. And that was all that mattered, even if she wanted nothing to do with him.

"Oh-I saw Grimsby this morning," she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. "He wanted me to tell you that they've been cleaning up storage and getting rid of junk in preparation for when you move, but they set aside some things you might be interested in. He said you could come by any time to look them over." She paused. "I didn't realize you were moving."

"I'm not-yet. We haven't even found a house. Grimsby just likes to be prepared for anything, that's all."

She smiled slightly. "He did seem like that type."

"You have no idea. He used to be much worse, back when I first employed him. But he's mellowed quite a bit since then." She raised her brow, disbelief written across her face, and he grinned. "Not like Jones, here," he added with a wink, watching Killian approach from his peripheral vision.

Emma grinned. "Someday, you're going to have to tell me the story."

"What story?" Jones asked, eyeing them both with suspicion as he joined them.

"The story of how you two met in Neverland," she smiled as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Ready to go?" He nodded, and Eric watched them leave, noting that they seemed more at ease with each other, much of the post-Neverland tension dissipated. Whatever they had discussed last night, it appeared to have done their budding relationship a world of good, and it left Eric feeling both wistful and resentful about his own situation with Ariel.

He worked off his frustration and restlessness through the usual routine of chores and ship maintenance that Jones put him through each morning, clinging to the routine of work and sweat as he had his days in Neverland. Though he would never admit as much to Jones and allow him the smug satisfaction, Eric knew that the hard work his mate saddled him every waking hour of the day was good for him, gave him something to focus on besides his own problems. That between the two of them, they had nearly restored the entirety of the Jolly Roger's interior in the space of not quite two months said quite a lot about how each of them were adjusting to the new set of circumstances they found themselves in since their return from Neverland.

After finishing his routine of chores, Eric cleaned up, changed into a fresh set of clothes, and walked into town for lunch.

Granny's Diner was busy, but not quite so crowded as Eric had expected it to be, when he walked in the door a short time later. He scanned the diner, half-expecting to see Jones lingering over a cup of rum, since he hadn't returned before Eric had finished with his work. There was no sign of either Killian or Emma, however, and Eric briefly puzzled over that until he saw a familiar curtain of red hair spilling over slim, pale shoulders. Hunched over a stack of documents at a table in the far corner of the diner, Ariel seemed wholly absorbed in her work, and unaware of his presence.  _So much for working out my frustration through hard labor_ , he thought sardonically, helplessly drinking in the sight of her.

Shifting to the side to allow another customer to pass by him toward the door, Eric nodded at Leroy, whom he had worked with a time or two on odd jobs around Storybrooke, and took a seat on one of the stools at the long counter. "Well, look what the sea washed up again," Granny said, shuffling over with an expression that was neither a smile or frown, but somewhere between. "Tired of hardtack and fish?"

"Oh, we splurge on salted beef now and again, too," he winked at her, "to liven the menu up during our wild parties."

She snorted, the barest hint of a smile on her aging features. "I bet. So what'll you have? Today's special is grilled salmon, but I don't suppose you'll want that." He shook his head. "Then I'll suggest the fried chicken. Comes with your choice of two sides. We have green beans, corn, coleslaw, baked beans, or mashed potatoes and gravy."

"What do you recommend?" Eric had no earthly idea what some of the items she had just rattled off even were.

She eyed him with a knowing expression. "Can't go wrong with green beans and mashed potatoes with gravy. I'll put in an order for you. You paying cash, or is this going on your tab?"

"My what?" He blinked at her.

"Your tab. A credit account." She frowned. "Ruby said she opened one up in your name a few days ago. You didn't ask her to?"

"No," he shook his head. "It must have been Grimsby, making arrangements for me until everything is settled with the lawyers."

"You want to close it?"

"No," he decided. He hadn't been entirely comfortable taking money from the Charmings, even on a temporary basis, until his own fortune was restored to him, and the knowledge that he might be able to lessen that dependence pleased him. He could pay back some of what he owed them with the money Grimsby had advanced him out of his own pocket, and settle up the remainder of all three debts as soon as he had access to the Lagerkron funds again. "Put the meal on my account. It's less of Grimsby's money I have to burn through in the meantime."

"All right," she said. "You want a beer with the meal?"

"Water is fine."

"Still a little hungover, eh?" She smiled. "I thought you looked a little green around the gills. Wise decision."

She disappeared into the back of the restaurant, and Eric glanced over toward Ariel again. The plate of food she had ordered sat on the table next to her elbow, untouched as far as he could see. Eric frowned, wondering if she were even aware of its presence. It wasn't like the Ariel he knew to simply ignore food and not eat. And were those circles under her eyes? She wasn't taking care of herself. Feeling helpless, Eric shifted restlessly on his bar stool. He would give anything to help her, to take care of her the way that she deserved, and yet he knew that she would never accept his help. Ariel had always had a streak of headstrong independence in her that he loved; he suspected that, even if he hadn't been so adamantly shut out of her life, Ariel's handicap had only amplified those traits, making her more prone than ever toward preserving the independence she did enjoy.

"You know," Granny's voice cut into his thoughts as she placed a glass of iced water on the counter in front of him, "you could go over and talk to her, instead of staring at her like she's the catch of the day."

"I've tried talking to her. She doesn't seem to want to talk to me."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, reaching for a coffee pot to pour Leroy another cup of the bitter beverage before he returned to work in the mines. "All I know is it's a damn shame that you're vilified for supposedly disliking her because of that handicap, and yet, day after day, almost nobody in this diner ever stops by to so much as talk to her. She might welcome you more than you think."

She turned away to take another customer's order, and Eric peered over toward Ariel again, wondering whether he should chance it. He was trying to respect her wishes, if she didn't want him to be a part of her life, but now he eyed the stack of paperwork she was busy poring over, in askance. Was she truly working through her lunch hour because she needed to, or because she was lonely, and embarrassed to sit alone, day after day?

Making up his mind, Eric walked over to the table where Ariel sat, and pulled out one of the chairs. She looked up, staring at him in surprise. Eric sank into the chair, holding her gaze. Neither of them spoke a word for several heartbeats, until finally, he nodded at the stack of paperwork. "Busy week at the office?"

"You could say that." She gathered up some of the papers, avoiding his gaze. Her movements were hurried, almost clumsy. "What are you doing here, Eric? Your appointment isn't until Friday-"

"This has nothing to do with my appointment; we both know that."

She sighed, meeting his gaze with obvious reluctance. "Eric-"

"Look, I won't stay if I'm really unwelcome, Ariel, but regardless of all that's happened between us, I would at least like to be on friendly terms with one another. Avoiding each other has got to stop, don't you think?"

"I-yes, I guess so," she admitted, flushing pink. "Are you saying you want to be friends?" Her brow furrowed, and her expression became conflicted.

"No," he said succinctly. "But you know me, Ariel," he said, seeking her gaze again, only to find her steadfastly avoiding it, "if that's what you decide you want, I won't say no. Whatever we are, or become...that's up to you." He spied Granny returning with his glass of water, and stood up. "I'll see you on Friday. Take care." He stood up and made his way back to the counter, feeling her eyes on him the whole way.

"Well?" Granny demanded, when he sat down again and accepted the water from her.

He shrugged. "She didn't order me away."

Granny's gaze slid over to where Ariel sat. "No, I would imagine she wouldn't." She eyed Eric over the rims of her spectacles. "By the way, Ruby called a few minutes ago, said she was going to be late for her shift this afternoon. While she was on the phone, I asked her about the account opened in your name."

"Oh?" he responded.

"Mr. Grimsby didn't open the account."

Eric frowned. "I don't understand. Then who did? Carlotta?"

Granny's gaze slid over toward Ariel once more. "Guess again."


End file.
